


A Pinch of Spice

by robotfvckers



Series: Spicy Drabbles [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Costume Kink, Creampie, Dom/sub, Dragon Genji Shimada, Edgeplay, Frottage, Gen or Pre-Slash, Group Sex, Infiltration, Inverted Nipples, Knotting, Lingerie, M/M, Maid Cafe, Maids, Massage, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Morning Sex, Overstimulation, Oviposition, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Prostate Milking, Restraints, Robot Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sleepy Kisses, Sleepy Sex, Sloppy Seconds, Stink Kink, Teratophilia, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Voyeurism, Wall Sex, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 100-500, musk, prostate, unestablished, valveplug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers
Summary: Spicy drabbles under five hundred words or less prompted by my followers on tumblr. Content warnings are at the beginning of each chapter.





	1. Zenyatta/Genji, soft dom, overstim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Zenyatta/Genji  
> Warnings: soft dom!Zenyatta, overstimulation, prostate orgasm

****Zenyatta never did this before he met Genji, never had a partner that desired sexual intimacy, one that yearned for a gentle (or rough) touch. One that needed hands around his throat, teasing fingers across the swell of his chest. Forty-three percent of Genji is organic, but what remains is endlessly sensitive. His natural chest peaks so very easily; unarmored, it pebbles and swells with a single, teasing finger.

This time, Zenyatta makes it rise by simply whispering the promise of attention into Genji’s ear.

“It looks like it is begging for touch,” Zenyatta murmurs.

He is glad that he had only blindfolded his student this time. Genji moans so beautifully, whimpers hard and loud like Zenyatta has never heard anywhere but between the two of them. Sometimes, he wonders if Genji was like this with previous partners, but Zenyatta finds he does not care, that he never cared.

His other hand, nestled between Genji’s thighs, warmer than protocol by several degrees and slippery with lube, begins to move once more. He dismisses the warning on his HUD, continues fucking his fingers inside Genji with firm, messy squelches.

“O-oh…” Genji wheezes, thighs quaking, stomach drawn taut, everywhere a livewire, but then he groans, fight slipping out of him with a broken gasp. “I...I…”

Zenyatta works three fingers inside without resistance, curling with each thrust, the pads of them rolling over the sensitive roughness he feels just inside his student, gently firmer than the plush, pliant fluttering of the rest of his insides. Genji’s cock lies swollen against his thigh, lines of slick gleaming on metal and synthetic muscle, beautiful like the rest of him.

“How many times, Genji?”

Genji worries his lip, sucking in air like he’s sparring, and Zenyatta knows he does not have much longer before he would need his mask. Yet, in the minutes before, as his student’s vision wavers and his toes curl, Zenyatta circles his hand around his throbbing, abused cock and works it in time with the hand inside him.

“How many?”

“T-too...m-any...m-master…!!”

Zenyatta hums, lets Genji’s cock slap against his trembling stomach, staring between Genji’s thighs where he’s swollen and speared on his fingers, where even after so many orgasms he’s fucking onto Zenyatta’s hand.

“Here, then. One more, sparrow.”

Zenyatta curls just a little harder, swipes his thumb across the sensitive skin just beneath his balls, and Genji seizes again, sobbing from the unyielding, loving grind against that tender spot inside him. His cock jerks, but there’s only a single, weak pearl of seed that dribbles onto his stomach before Genji finally slackens.

“Beautiful. You were so good for me.” Zenyatta coos, reaching for Genji’s respirator and affixing it to his helmet with a pneumatic hiss.

Genji breathes shakily but deep, and Zenyatta undoes the blindfold with utmost care, wanting to see his student’s eyes blown black with sated lust.


	2. Doomfist/Zenyatta, costume play, mild dubcon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Doomfist/Zenyatta  
> Warnings: mild dubcon (just in case), costume play, rough fucking, PIV, valveplay

****To a normal human, the omnic would not stand out. Their serial codes are within one or two numbers of each other, and they all wear the same outfit: a maid’s uniform with bows and petticoats that barely reach mid-thigh. Each bows prettily, recites their lines perfectly. The monk is no different in this respect. His recitation is perfect, his bow even more so.

Akande is not a normal human. 

He notices the familiar scrapes of his faceplate, the deep, resonant timbre, the pared down core, more willowy than most omnics, padded within his outfit.

He passes the open tables and walks straight into a vacant VIP room, gesturing with one hand to the monk, who follows silently behind him. Akande reclines into the plush, oversized couch and watches the omnic enter with the menu clasped in front of him.

In the monk’s defense, Overwatch never should’ve sent him alone, not one so interesting, so unique. He has the monk bent over the couch in an instant, skirts pooling at his lower back, revealing a pair of silky black panties.

“No modesty panel. How presumptuous.” Akande murmurs, tracing the plump, telltale outline of his valve.

The omnic shudders, jerking in his grip, a perfunctory struggle he knows he cannot win. Akande traces his huge fingers along the seams between his thighs, the fabric and what lies beneath so soft against his callouses, his mouth aching to taste. Instead, he slips a finger beneath the material and tugs it up. The motion exposes each and every line of his valve through the fabric, panties grown damp where he leaks, body priming to hug and suckle every inch of Akande’s cock.

“ _Very_ presumptuous.” Akande says, shifting the fabric that much tighter, exposing the edges of his teal valve, the fabric squeezing the node that’s still hidden from Akande’s sight.

“P-please.” The monk chirps.

Akande laughs, low and deep, tugs the panties aside to rest on the swell of one cheek. He’s only half-hard when he sinks his cock inside the hot, needy monk, but within the minute he’s aching, pleasure crackling between his ears.

He should use the monk like a cocksleeve, take his fill and leave him fucked out and broken for maintenance to throw away. Yet, the omnic sings so beautifully for him; the very same omnic who interrupted his plans at every turn now massages his cock like he was made for it.

With a few, gentle slides of his fingers upon the monk’s node, the omnic seizes around him, tightening in a way that steals his breath, his orgasm upon him like a strike.

“Ah, Zenyatta.” Akande groans into the side of his head, and the omnic stiffens, moaning without thought, his chassis trembling beneath his new master’s hands. “I am so very glad you decided to visit.”


	3. McCree/Reyes, stink kink, frottage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: McCree/Reyes  
> Warnings: stink kink, frottage, semi-public sex, power imbalance (since Reyes is his boss)
> 
> Note: A quick and dirty sequel to [Heat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10260548), but you definitely don't have to read to understand this segment.

****Jesse tapped out sixteen laps ago, his gasps overshadowed by his boss’ quiet laughter. For the millionth time, he promises to cut back on the smokes, but even now he’s aching for a cigarillo to steady his nerves.

His eyes follow the steadily approaching figure rounding the track, all thick muscles and distracting curves. Gabe waves once when he notices Jesse looking, and the bastard _smiles_ , not winded in the least.

Jesse rolls his tongue, wanting something to do with his mouth, anything to distract him from Gabe’s lower half wrapped in skin-tight leggings, from the barest outline of his boss’ cock, his dark, pierced nipples barely concealed beneath his flimsy, low-cut tank.

“Maybe if they pumped me full of serum I could keep up.” Jesse grumbles when Gabe slows to a stop in front of him.

He stares between his own knees at his ancient pair of track shorts from his early Blackwatch days, nearly too small now that he’s thickened up. The compression shorts beneath keep him honest, but barely, and the way Gabe leans over him, heat and sweat radiating off his body, doesn’t help.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, kid.” Calloused fingers sink into Jesse’s messy hair, grazing against his skull, and Jesse swallows a groan. “You did good.”

Jesse looks up and realizes his face is inches from Gabe’s thighs, can see the patches of sweat gluing the fabric to his skin, smells his musk, rich and heady. The memory of the last time they were so close swims in his vision, and an all too familiar pulse heats the space between his legs.

The change must be palpable, because Gabe’s grip shifts to cup Jesse’s chin. He drags his thumb over the chapped swell of his lower lip, and Jesse sucks the tip into his mouth without thinking, salt and sweetness blooming over his tongue. Gabe exhales, and Jesse sees the way his pupils dilate before his boss glances towards the door. The gym is open; anyone could discover them.

“C’mere.”

* * *

It’s dangerous like this, just out of shot of the watchpoint cameras, pressed against a stack of mats in a tiny, dusty alcove of the gym. His scent is overwhelming here, a perfume on Jesse’s tongue, Gabriel’s smell so deep in his nose he hopes it never fades.

He groans as Gabe tugs him closer and squeezes his forearm around Jesse’s back, urging him to snap his hips faster. He wants more than anything to suck Gabe’s cock, mouth at its obscene, damp outline through his leggings. Last time, Gabe’s scent was days old: now, it would be fresh, deep and spiced, and Jesse whimpers at the thought.

“Focus, McCree.” Gabe whispers, low but not nearly quiet enough, and Jesse moans into the sweat-slick column of his throat, biting just beneath his ear. The catch and drag of their cocks through so much fabric does little more than tease, just short of the friction he needs, and it makes his motions desperate.

This time when their eyes meet, there’s no hesitance, just hot lips and tongue slotting together with undeniable need, and maybe it had always been this easy, maybe Jesse shouldn’t have waited for Gabe to make the first move. How many times had he brought himself off thinking of that night like a fever dream, how many desperate times did he spend with a stolen pair of Gabe’s briefs, breathing in the scent while he chased his ghost with a calloused hand around his cock, moaning Gabe’s name?

“Yeah, that’s it.” Gabe bites into the shell of his ear, grazing it with his teeth when Jesse growls, dirty fingernails sealing around Gabe’s hips, dragging his cock rougher, hard enough to hurt. “Been waiting for another taste, haven’t you?”

Jesse’s cock throbs in his pants, fear and excitement catching in his throat. He buries his head into the crook of Gabe’s shoulder, close enough to smell the sweat soaked into the fabric of his tank. He swears; cock leaking so copiously in his shorts, but it does nothing to ease his desperate rutting.

“I know you’ve been stealing my things, Jesse.” Gabe’s voice drops low, gravel rough, sounding so very pleased with himself. “Sniffing them like a damn dog...Getting your rocks off—”

_“Fuck_ —!!”

Jesse sinks his teeth into Gabe’s neck, cock pulsing against his compression shorts, the first spurt of cum wetting the already dampened fabric. He slams Gabe into the mats, grinding his orgasm out, grunting and panting, staining his track shorts with its intensity, mindless until the final, immobilizing aftershocks pass.

It gets so quiet then, only labored breathing echoing in the small space. Jesse stares blearily at the uneven teeth marks he left on his commander’s throat.

“Figured.” Gabe breathes, sounding so _wrecked_ he flushes, clears his throat.

Jesse grins weakly as Gabe scoffs and pushes him to his knees, smashing his face into the sweltering, sticky mess of Gabe’s clothed, unspent cock.

“Stop smiling and get to work.”


	4. Genji/Human!Zenyatta, soft, sleepy sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Genji/Human!Zenyatta  
> Warnings: none, soft boys and soft sex

****It’s been over two months since they’ve slept in a bed. The mattress is lumpy, the blanket threadbare, the frame too small for two people. None of these matter as Zenyatta shifts closer to Genji’s chest, finding warmth in the hum of cybernetics and skin.

Genji kisses his forehead, the rough texture of each dot a familiar comfort, and Zenyatta murmurs something unintelligible and sleep-soft into the crook of his neck.

“Hello.” Genji says against the side of Zenyatta’s head, kissing along the delicate shell of his ear. He dips, tasting the warm skin beneath while Zenyatta hums, tilting back to expose more of his throat to his student, not quite opening his eyes.

“Good morning.” Zenyatta breathes, exhales softly when the lips at his neck part, the barest grazing of teeth against sensitive skin.

Genji teases a hand beneath the worn tee Zenyatta wore to bed, marveling at his master in plain clothes, like they are a normal couple enjoying a lazy morning. The smell of brewing coffee and yoga would wake them each day. Every morning he could kiss Zenyatta, slow and easy, drag his fingers along his flanks toward his chest like he does now. His master trembles, arching away from the playful touch, ticklish.

“Genji.” Zenyatta gasps when he finds Zenyatta’s nipple, the skin peaking so easily beneath his calloused fingers, though he does little more than gently circle the silken outer flesh.

Zenyatta nudges his head against Genji’s, and he kisses him, a quiet, dry brush of lips against lips. Each motion is endless, like they have all the time in the world, breathing and touching and shifting, curious and sensual as if its their first.

Even when Zenyatta shifts onto his stomach, the blanket falling away and exposing the soft, freckled thighs Genji has been caressing and kneading, Genji savors each moment, teasing Zenyatta with slickened fingers while Zenyatta holds himself open. He brings his master off like this, the slow, constant twist of his fingers just inside him as Zenyatta shakes and moans into his pillow.

Lust-hazy eyes meet Genji’s over a tawny, scarred shoulder, and Genji chuckles. He shifts his fingers, watching Zenyatta’s eyes flutter and his lips purse.

“Tease.” Zenyatta whispers. “Do you not wish to take me properly?” Genji kisses Zenyatta’s lower back, still rolling his fingers inside him, mouthing against a particularly deep scar.

“Always.”

Zenyatta laughs once, the sound warming Genji through, then his master reaches back, grabbing Genji’s cock, swollen and forgotten against his stomach.

“I do not wish to beg.”

Genji shifts forward, draping over Zenyatta, kissing his shoulders, gently nudging Zenyatta’s hand away while he lines himself up, pleasure and heat making his mind drowsy.

“And what if I want you to?” Genji says into his neck, but he doesn’t wait for Zenyatta’s response before he presses inside, as warm and sweet as a dream, Zenyatta groaning and arching so beautifully for him.

He takes Zenyatta just like that, with soft, easy rolls of his hips, fluid and delicate, even at Zenyatta’s protestations to move faster, harder, and brings his lover off with quiet, eager words whispered into the crook of his neck.

After, messy but sated, they lay curled in each other’s arms, dozing in the trickle of morning light through the shades.


	5. Genji + Zenyatta, gen, holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Genji + Zenyatta, gen, unestablished relationship, pining  
> Warnings: none
> 
> Genji and Zenyatta decorate a christmas tree.

The monastery is the last place Genji thought he would see a christmas tree. It reminds him of his childhood, passing the glittering window displays, and later wooing lovers on the holiday’s eve, sharing cake as well as a bed. This tree is small and synthetic, ancient but well cared for.

“Ah! Genji.”

Genji turns around and grins beneath his helmet. Zenyatta floats into the small chamber carrying an old wooden box.

“I should have known you would be the one decorating, master.”

The omnic laughs, orbs circling slowly in his mirth, and the strange, familiar fluttering settles in Genji’s stomach. He never knew an omnic could laugh so genuinely before he met Zenyatta.

“We do not normally celebrate holidays, but I quite enjoy the sights and sounds of winter festivities.” His orbs resettle along his throat, rolling lazily. “Do you wish to help?”

“I have never decorated a tree before.”

Zenyatta unclasps the box in his lap, revealing bright red and gold baubles, strings of lights, and to Genji’s surprise, tiny silver bells.

“It is a wonderful time to start. And it will go more quickly with the two of us.”

Zenyatta floats around the tree, stringing the lights with methodical ease. The ornaments go next, and Genji helps alternate the colors and patch the spots that are thin with age. They hang the bells last, chiming like Zenyatta’s orbs, and he doesn’t realize he’s staring motionless at the tree until Zenyatta touches his arm.

His master had moved to stand sometime between the lights and the ornaments, and in his hands he holds a star, delicate and tinseled, lined with lights.

“Would you lift me up? The top of the tree is out of reach.”

“Of course.”

He’s glad he didn’t take off his helmet as he kneels and wraps his arms around Zenyatta’s thighs. Genji braces himself, but he lifts Zenyatta easily, light as a bird, made of alloys that look much heavier than they are.

Genji stares at Zenyatta’s face as it flickers, reflecting the white glimmer of the tree’s lights, his fingers as they deftly center the star. Zenyatta looks down at Genji, tiling his head, a smile; Genji’s face blooms with heat. Zenyatta’s hand settles on his shoulder, warm and light.

“You may put me down now, my student.”

Zenyatta laughs as Genji nearly drops him in his haste, waving off Genji’s apologies.

“Please, do not worry yourself. It is wonderful to be held in such high esteem.” Zenyatta says, mirth in each word.

“You tease me.” Genji murmurs, shaking his head, but Zenyatta’s happiness is infectious, and he cannot fight his grin.

They both take a few steps back, standing side by side, admiring the soft, nostalgic beauty of the tree, old and humble, but theirs.

“It has never looked better,” Zenyatta says softly.

“You know,” Genji says. “In Hanamura, we would often celebrate with shortcake as well.”

Zenyatta turns to him with hands clasped. “I have never tried it. Do you think we could find ingredients on such short notice?”

Genji smiles. “Let us find out.”


	6. Blackwatch!Genji/Zenyatta, wall sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Blackwatch!Genji/Zenyatta  
> Warnings: unestablished, rough sex, wall sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, PIV, valveplug

****The omnic won’t stop following him. He can escape for a few days if he bounds over rooftops or disappears into busy plazas, takes the more treacherous routes that omnics cannot. Yet, sooner or later, Genji will find the omnic behind him, through the crowd, or sitting across a table with a quiet, knowing gaze. He speaks of discord, of inner peace, of the good that lingers inside him. Genji will hear none of it.

His breaking point is in the alley of some backwater town where drunkards mistake him for an omnic. Genji defends himself, but there are too many to fight, not without killing. The omnic interferes, and before Genji realizes they are working in tandem, sending the humans scrambling.

Genji turns, and the omnic is already looking at him, head tilted just so, about to spout some trite snippet of wisdom. Genji has him against the wall in an instant, forearm crushing the column of his throat.

“Why are you following me?” Genji hisses, modulated through his respirator, and he winces. He’s not sure he’ll ever grow accustomed to it.

The omnic jerks, synth muffled beneath his arm, but Genji can barely bring himself to care, his shadow, his stalker, cornered. He could kill him and be done with it. Still, glaring at the omnic squirming, fingers squeezing ineffectually at his wrist, adrenaline-high and heart pounding, something else entirely overcomes him.

He flips the omnic over, faceplate clattering against the filthy walls of the alleyway. The omnic groans, struggles ceased, fans whirring as Genji growls into his shoulder.

“You want my attention. You have it. What do you want from me? Huh?” He shoves the omnic once, and he chirps, synth glitching, the sound shocking down Genji’s spine.

A tearing noise reaches his ears, then hot, solid pressure. He stares along the omnic’s spine, his pants pooled at his ankles, hand fisted between his thighs. Before he can think, he traces the edges of his modesty paneling, huffing in annoyance.

“Open up.” Genji tightens his grip. “Do it.”

The quiet click of a panel receding touches the air, then slippery wet warmth settles in the palm of Genji’s hand. He couldn’t move faster, pinning the omnic like he can do nothing else, scrambling against his own paneling to release his rapidly thickening cock. He shoves the omnic’s lower back, forcing his hips up and open, hot, teal lips parting gently as he shoves his cock against them.

“Is this what you wanted? I guess omnics really are the same.”

He fucks the omnic like this, sinking his cock to the hilt with little fanfare, hands brutal against his hips that nearly buckle the struts there. He lifts him higher so his feet cannot reach the cobblestone, helpless as he lowers the omnic on his cock until the wet smack of him buried completely rings in the silence, butting against his soft, squeezing insides, heady and dizzying. It had been so long since he’s touched another, had another pursue him, though the omnic never asked for this, but with each hard flutter of his valve, he wonders if this had been some part of his yearning, terrible, base whispers that tainted his heartfelt attempts at convincing Genji to forgive.

It’s so much like fucking a human, like his younger years, yet it’s nowhere near the same, the way the omnic warbles and moves and readjusts around him, like he was made for it, the anger and hatred tearing him apart as the pleasure shocks through his body and poisons his mind. The omnic’s fingers give up scratching at the stone and instead clamp around Genji’s wrists, holding so tightly his cybernetics creak.

The omnic rolls his hips, meeting Genji’s brutal thrusts, swearing Genji’s name though he doesn’t remember telling him in the many times he’s shooed the omnic away. Each desperate whisper does things to him, strikes him like his attackers hadn’t, usurps the careful, delicate control Genji had crafted in his new, inhuman body. The omnic wants to uproot everything he clings to, every thread of familiarity, and Genji roars, unable to parse his kind, gentle demeanor from the being he’s fucking like a toy, destroying in a filthy alley where other lowlifes can hear the thick, harsh slapping of cybernetics and silicone.

He slows for an instant, mesmerized by the way his cock, painfully hard and aching, nearly pops out, but the omnic chases it, swallowing it back into the tight confines of his valve, synth grinding with his desperate pleas.

“Yeah...maybe not the same. You are worse.” Genji murmurs into the cables at his shoulders, watching with shallow breath, anticipating each and every time he retreats that the omnic will find him again.


	7. Genyatta, weredragon!Genji, knotting, terato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Weredragon!Genji/Zenyatta  
> Warnings: rough sex, teratophilia, restraints, PIV, knotting, heat cycles

It was difficult for them, at first. Genji grew so large when he changed, his serpentine body many times longer than Zenyatta’s height, thick and muscular beneath rows of gleaming, viridian scales. Weredragons are rare beasts, and their secrets are kept within families. Formidable as allies, deadly as lovers, Genji had told him, requiring partners of equal strength. Traditionally, it meant other changers, and though there is much to be gained from historical knowledge, Zenyatta will not let it dictate the future.

Early in his heat, Genji collects pillows, chuckling as he rearranges the bedroom, knowing what is to come. The next day, Zenyatta secures him in the rig they constructed between cycles, testing its strength, making sure that in the deepest, most mindless part of Genji’s heat he will not be able to harm him.

In a few hours, Zenyatta finds him, eyes swallowed in green, mostly changed, what little humanity remaining slipping from his eyes. Later, they will lie in each other’s arms, exchange slow, sweet kisses that make Zenyatta’s processes rush.

Now, Zenyatta approaches, and Genji whips towards him, nostrils flaring, scenting his mate and straining against the alloys that hold his body aloft and aching. The set-up is a natural one: Genji restrained at hind and fore leg, fully quadruped now that his transformation is complete. His cock hangs heavy and dripping between his thighs while his tail slithers along the floor, wrapping around Zenyatta’s ankle. His master deftly steps out of his hold before he can cinch around it and disarm him as he intends.

“Ah, ah, love. Behave.”

Zenyatta approaches him, naked and prepared. Even synthetic, the knowledge of Genji’s heat warms him: he struggled to focus hours prior, thinking of how he would be split open and mounted to slake his lover’s heat.

He stops in front of Genji’s maw, sliding a metal hand down his chassis, slipping over his own glowing node and parting teal lips. Zenyatta groans as Genji’s tongue lashes out to taste him, nearly buckles his knees at the sensation of his tongue slithering along his opening, tasting all that he can, saliva mixing with the swollen slickness already dribbling down Zenyatta’s thighs.

Zenyatta cannot stand for long, does not wish to, not with Genji grown wild and lost; he shall not leave his poor lover in such chaos. He slips beneath Genji’s body, and Genji thrashes, the metal restraints groaning but holding.

On all fours, Zenyatta reaches behind him, guiding Genji’s huge, tapered cock between his thighs. Immediately Genji fucks forward, sliding along the hot length of his valve and butting into his aching node, and Zenyatta trills, trying to stay aware enough to grant his lover reprieve.  

“Easy, Genji.” Zenyatta hums, shaky and so _wanting_.

Perhaps even the bestial part of Genji senses his mate’s desire, and he chitters, grinding between his thighs but eventually slowing the desperate curl of his hips, doing his best to wait.

It’s embarrassingly easy to kiss Genji’s tapered cock to his valve and sink it inside him, and Genji’s hips, the only part unrestrained, answers, jostling him with staggering desperation. All Zenyatta can do is plant his hands in front of him and hold on while Genji grunts and groans above him, sinking hot and tight into Zenyatta’s fluttering valve. The first few thrusts don’t even hurt, only a too deep press before pleasure bursts in Zenyatta’s array, calibrated and so ready for whatever Genji gives him.

The first time is never long, but Zenyatta does not mind, not as Genji fills his valve to the brink, his knot straining the soft, slick tissue of his opening, starting a delicious, familiar ache that Zenyatta will think about for days after. He does not even tease his own node as Genji’s tail wraps possessively around his leg, holding him in place, as if Zenyatta would want to be anywhere else. Genji’s razed groans overshadow Zenyatta’s soft chirps as he pumps his lover full of his first load, the contractions hard enough to register along his deepest sensors. His black middle swells, primed to take this and much more, but Zenyatta hopes it will be _too_ much this time, will overload him and sluice out of his body with the force of Genji’s thrusts, never able to breed his lover enough, never satisfied until he's bursting with his seed.

That is the thought forefront in his mind as he grinds and squeezes around the knot locked so very snugly within him, cooing and humming while Genji’s whole body rumbles with short-lived contentment.

They had many more rounds to go, after all.


	8. McHanzo, inverted nipples, clothing play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: McCree/Hanzo  
> Warnings: inverted nipples, clothing play (Hanzo wearing a bra)

****“Aw, darlin’. You look great.” McCree drawls, leaning back in his chair and appreciating the view.

Hanzo does his best not to squirm, the praise flushing his ears. He sticks his chest out that much more, face settling into the haughty confidence it usually exudes. His gi pools at his waist, the ill-fitting lace bra tugged down and bulging beneath the generous swell of Hanzo’s chest.

Hanzo looks incredible, disheveled and preening, but the thing McCree likes most are the soft, inverted peaks of his nipples, the tips hidden around the pink swell of his areola. With a raised eyebrow or crook of his finger, Hanzo would come to him. Instead, McCree asks out loud, loving how Hanzo reacts to his low, smoky words.

“C’mere. Take a seat.”  

His cigarillo burns low, and he ashes it on the tray next to him, mouth yearning for something much sweeter. Hanzo nearly stumbles over himself to settle in McCree’s lap, but he doesn’t mind, smoothes and soothes Hanzo until that warm softness overtakes his eyes again. He teases his fingers along Hanzo’s middle, tracing upwards, plucking at the straining lace that’s already begun to fray.

“Too tight, huh? Don’t hurt?” McCree asks, and Hanzo shakes his head, tongue lashing out to swipe as his lower lip, watching McCree expectantly.

“How long do you plan to stare?” Hanzo brings the impressive thickness of his arms forward, the motion forcing his pecs together. McCree’s mouth goes dry, and he cups the soft flesh, the muscles beneath hard and impressive.

“Everythin’ in its time.” McCree murmurs, but he slides his fingers up, mapping the very edges of Hanzo’s nipples with calloused fingers and metal digits, reveling in the silken heat of his skin.

He squeezes, the barest pressure, and Hanzo sighs, gooseflesh tightening his skin. McCree twists just a little harder, massaging his chest, and Hanzo struggles to separate the dual sensations of flesh and metal both. McCree feels his heart thundering against his hands.

“Easy now,” he squeezes firmer, with intent this time, the tips just barely swelling past the tight flesh around them, and there it is, Hanzo groaning, arching into the touch. McCree dips down, kissing the heated flesh first before sealing his mouth around a soft nipple and suckling, flicking his tongue along the hidden bud.

Hanzo’s swears burn in his ears, and the archer’s hands fist in his shaggy hair, forcing his mouth harder against his flesh. McCree chuckles, sucking and urging the peak forward, a slow, delicious process that makes his cock throb in his jeans. Hanzo’s hips jostle hard and hot into McCree’s stomach, hard, so _hard_ for him, from something so minimal.

McCree wraps his lips around the skin, slurping audible and messy, urged on by Hanzo’s hand against his scalp that shakes with barely contained control. One hard pull, two, his cheeks hollow, and Hanzo’s voice stutters, gone low and desperate.

“ _Jesse_ –”

Ah, and there it is. McCree grins around the hard, tender peak still locked in the hot wetness of his mouth, exposed and so sensitive that Hanzo tugs McCree’s head back when he drags his tongue against it. McCree complies, withdrawing from the new, pebbled flesh with a slippery pop, a line of saliva connecting Hanzo’s swollen nipple to his chapped lips.

“Jus’ one more…” McCree says, wrecked but undeniably pleased as the archer huffs, pushing McCree against his other, neglected nipple, and waits for McCree to make good on his words.


	9. Mob/Angelo (concept!Mercy)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Mob/Angelo ft. Jack, McCree, Genji, Lúcio and Zenyatta  
> Warnings: creampie, sloppy seconds, voyeurism, group sex

****Angelo’s not sure if he can stand, but he won’t have to try for some time. All he has to do is keep his thighs spread and his hips angled back. McCree is taller than the others, and lazier, content to watch the slow slide of his cock into Angelo’s messy hole, bottoming out with the softest roll of his hips.

“Damn,” McCree swears, craning over Angelo, flattening himself to his muscular, sweaty back.  

The slap and squelch of cum bubbling around his gently pistoning cock is enough to make his balls draw tight and have his jaw clenching, even when his thrusts are little more than twitches against Angelo’s butter-soft insides.

The kid had taken Jack first: the commander’s too up-tight for sloppy seconds, and he’d left with little more than a gruff word of thanks. Genji had been quick to follow, and McCree had savored it, gently palming his cock in time with Genji’s thrusts. He loved watching Genji’s thick, heavy cock slide home with little more than a few gentle pushes and making Angelo groan, shaky and pleased, the kid glad to help his teammates blow off some steam. Genji is no wilting flower, but he looked small clinging to Angelo’s back, his tight, perfect ass pistoning into him while he moaned sweet nothings and gifted Angelo with another hot, overwhelming load.

McCree’s cock ached, watching Genji finally pull out, Angelo clenching around nothing, forcing Genji and Jack’s cum to splatter against his thighs and dirty the floor beneath him. Though he can’t see the kid’s cock, McCree guesses he’s had more than one orgasm worked out of him; Genji prided himself on his skill, shifting angles and fucking hard and deep when Angelo’s breathing spiked and he started begging and spasming.

Angelo is _good_ at this, had been trained to take cock by one of their own. Genji’s master had done his share of raising teammate morale, lubing Angelo up with those dextrous, synthetic hands session after session, teaching him how to come just from his ass, to settle himself into subspace with little more than a few, gentle words. Now it is second nature, and the kid craves it more than anything even though he’s got a great cock, long and fat, beautiful like the rest of him.

“Turn over, hun.” McCree murmurs, pulling out just enough watch more cum dribble out of Angelo’s puffy, abused hole.

The medic doesn’t move at first, groaning and whimpering still, angling his ass up before he processes McCree’s words. Then he shivers, jolts once.

“I...I’m not sure I can.” He says finally, low and weak, raspy from crying out.

“Not to worry. Lemme help.” With steady hands, McCree flips him over with care, and he hears Lúcio gasp, sees Genji grin from the corner of his eye.

Angelo is sweat-slick and gorgeous, his lower body covered in translucent cum that leaks from his half-hard cock. McCree whistles, low and impressed, and Angelo covers his face with his hands.

“You really like this, don’t you?”  Lúcio murmurs, suddenly right next to McCree’s side.

McCree spreads Angelo’s quaking thighs, biting his tongue when he’s able to slide right back in without using his own hand to guide it.

“Not yet, Lúcio. Wait yer turn.” The wet, obscene smacks return, and McCree throws his head back, grinning hard at the sound.

“You’re taking forever, cowboy. Pick it up.”

McCree feels his orgasm build in his guts, enjoys how Lúcio hovers even though he spoke to the contrary. He stares up Angelo’s heaving body, lingering on those gorgeous tits he’d love to hold together and fuck sometime, and finds the kid staring at him through his fingers, worrying his full lower lip with his teeth.

It’s enough, it’s too much, and he stutters, rabbit fucking and then holding deep, balls pulsing as he slicks Angelo’s insides sloppy, withdrawing with a slick, wet sound and a satisfied sigh on his lips. McCree can’t help but want to study his work, especially with Lúcio practically vibrating at his side.

He tugs the fat roundness of one of Angelo’s cheeks aside, grinning terribly, wanting a cigarillo at the sight of such a well-fucked hole.

“That’ll certainly do. God damn.” He hums.

“You ready for me next, big guy?” Lúcio sing songs next to him, and McCree finally tucks himself in his pants and bows out before the little firecracker decides to boop him out of the way.

He hopes after his smoke break that Angelo will be game for another round.


	10. Zenyatta/Hanzo, fingering, praise kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Zenyatta/Hanzo  
> Warnings: alcohol mention (nowhere near drunk sex), fingering, prostate orgasm, massage, praise kink, dirty talk

****He has helped the younger. Now, the elder must heal.

Hanzo is proud, even in this. He softens his mind with sake each time he seeks him out, eyes downcast and cheeks rouged with more than drink. The omnic waits for Hanzo to disrobe and lie back on clean sheets, to settle his face into a pillow scented with a lavender sachet.

They begin as they always do, with Zenyatta massaging the harsh knots out of his shoulders and back with softly-scented oil. Hanzo remains silent for the most part, exhaling in quiet huffs when Zenyatta soothes his muscles into gentle pliance. He carefully skirts around what he knows Hanzo truly wants, content with rubbing the tenseness from his thighs, easing the scarred skin where Hanzo’s legs attach to his prosthetics: here too, Genji is the most sensitive, so he touches with care.

With Hanzo boneless and near-trancelike, he wipes his hands with a clean towel, the room quiet enough that he can hear the hum of his circuitry.

“You have done so well, Hanzo. Do you wish to continue?”

He waits until Hanzo shifts several seconds later, a nod, the back of his neck flushing. The soft sound of a cap opening touches the room, and Zenyatta coats his fingers with something more fitting for his next task. He places one hand on the tight swell of Hanzo’s ass, and the man spreads his thighs without question.

“Wonderful.” Zenyatta murmurs, stroking a slick thumb along the soft pucker of Hanzo’s hole.

His other hand pets along Hanzo’s back, constantly reassuring, a warm, soothing weight while Zenyatta teases him, shifting his fingers between his cheeks. Hanzo wants it so much, but years of conditioning will not let him ask. Zenyatta flips his hand palm up and presses his forefinger just inside, the lightest pressure. Hanzo’s legs widen incrementally, and instead of tightening and squirming like he had done so many times before, he only sighs when Zenyatta buries inside completely.

“You are so soft here.” Zenyatta withdraws to his second knuckle then shifts deep again, so slick and warm, easily adding another finger. Hanzo sucks him in just as the first, his hips trembling to stay still. “You need not hold back. I wish to hear you.”

He pistons his fingers slowly, consistent and near hypnotic, the soft suckle of Hanzo’s body as quiet as his machinery. Hanzo rarely makes noise, but his breathing speeds, and he mouths at the pillow, sweat just beginning to prickle along his back, tattoo shifting beautifully in the low light.

Three fingers shocks a groan from Hanzo, and Zenyatta’s processors speed at the sound, his lower body queueing tasks to online, which Zenyatta dismisses. However…

“You are so good for me.” He swivels his fingers, curling, just skirting the bundle of nerves aching to be stimulated, and Hanzo groans, deeper, more desperate than the first. “Do you desire something more substantial?”

He cranes over Hanzo, finally fucking and curling his fingers properly, circling the rough patch that makes Hanzo arch back onto his fingers.

“Do you wish for me to fuck you?”

Hanzo chokes on a plea, body seizing, insides clenching Zenyatta’s fingers in a vice, and Zenyatta praises him as he comes, milking his hole tenderly until Hanzo collapses into a motionless, sweaty heap.

“Well done, Hanzo.” Zenyatta hums. “Well done.”


	11. Reinhardt/Zenyatta, anal training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Reinhardt/Zenyatta  
> Warnings: anal play and training, toys, dirty talk, semi-public sex

****“Spread your legs,” Reinhardt says softly, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.

He’s trained people before, a necessity if he wanted to fuck his partners good and proper, and Zenyatta is an ideal one: patient and eager in spades. Sometimes Reinhardt still can’t believe the humble monk he met at the recall meeting is the same one bent over the back of the common room table, legs split wide and shaking, allowing Reinhardt ample room to work.

He doesn’t do much at first, just spreads Zenyatta’s cheeks with his huge hands, watching his dusky hole twitch around the bubblegum pink base of a plug. He been wearing it for several hours now, and Reinhardt marvels at how soft and pliant he’d become with such little training. The fantasy of finally breeding that tiny hole, his cock massaged and gripped like a hard-won prize is enough for heat to pool between his hips and thicken his cock against the front of his jeans. Even Zenyatta, prostrated and wanting, glancing over his shoulder and spreading his legs an inch wider has him sucking in a sharp breath.

Reinhardt hooks a finger beneath the flared base of the toy, tugging it back toward him, and Zenyatta gasps, convulsing, barely letting Reinhardt get an inch before he presses it back in place.

“How does it feel?” Reinhardt asks.

The monk’s flush deepens, but his hips stutter backwards, that oft calm, resonant tone shaky when he responds.

“Strange.” He pauses, then more breathlessly. “Good.”

“You want more?”

And Zenyatta bites his lip, fucking back gently against the shallow almost thrusts as Reinhardt tugs and wiggles the base, unsure whether to look at Zenyatta’s lower body shuddering and shiny-slick with lube or his face, scars and freckles emphasized by the flush burning along it.

“Y-yes.” Zenyatta manages, nearly yelling when Reinhardt slides the toy out completely, watching Zenyatta’s hole gape before he fills him again with a wet squish. Zenyatta’s head sags beneath his shoulders, hands gripping the edge of the table for leverage, fucking back against the steadily harder thrusts, shaken by the knowing way Reinhardt forces pleasure from such a strange place.

“That’s it, Schätzchen.” Reinhardt says, palms his own cock through his jeans. It’s not enough, and he unbuttons them instead, popping his engorged dick through the opening of his boxers.

Zenyatta groans at the sound, the table creaking beneath his long, muscled body with the force of his hips. It’s too loud, but there’s no one around, and Reinhardt would risk getting caught to hear Zenyatta’s voice breaking high and weak, witnessing his thrusts growing desperate and quick, seeking, legs trembling with the strain.

Reinhardt fists his own cock slowly, half-forgetting his own body when Zenyatta stops speaking in any language he can understand. The monk’s half-hard cock, angled back to save it from the table, pulses and dribbles in a long, gossamer strand onto the floor.

“Reinhardt—I’m—!!”

“Yes, go ahead. Let me see you come from my cock.”


	12. McCree/Hanzo, domsub, chastity play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: McCree/Hanzo  
> Warnings: chastity play, cock cage, dirty talk, domsub, bondage

****The mission goes two days longer than expected, but Hanzo refuses to show his desperation. He takes his time, walks back to his room and showers with clinical deliberation, though his fingers tremble over the warm metal of his cage, the glowing red light upon it mocking him.

He is a man of intense discipline, trained to sit in seiza for hours, to withstand the intense specificity of ceremony and clan. To wear such a thing during routine missions should not shake him. Hanzo bites his lip.

* * *

“Evenin’, sugar.”

McCree kisses him as soon as he steps through the door. He leans back, eyes calm and half-lidded, the familiarity relaxing Hanzo in turn.

“You rushed, huh?”

“Hardly.” Hanzo murmurs, kissing McCree’s cheek, stilling when McCree lightly strokes his hair.

“Still damp.”

Hanzo frowns. McCree brings the strands to his lips and kisses them.

“Don’t worry. Been wantin’ to see ya too.”

 

* * *

McCree barely moves his hips, grinding into Hanzo’s body like he’s got all the time in the world. Hanzo mouths around the cherry red gag between his lips, temper barely kept in check by McCree’s thrusts. The steel inside the most intimate part of him tingles, the cage attached to it keeping it snug and his cock small and useless between his legs. Sometimes, when Hanzo was good, McCree would pass his ring over the lock, the red light flickering green, the fresh click of the mechanism opening a welcome noise. McCree would coo while removing the cage, the rod sliding out as his cock thickened within seconds, Hanzo biting back his moans and struggling to stay still. McCree would stroke him with two fingers, teasing his dripping cock, so primed for touch it felt like tiny orgasms, so intense tears would prick his eyes.

McCree is not so cruel this time, but still Hanzo yearns. Wearing the cage beneath his clothes, fighting and sparring and talking to the other agents while under lock thrilled him, intensely aware at all times his own body. How innocuous things that normally would not cause a second glance captivated him, made the ghost of arousal always in his mind.

McCree shoves forward suddenly, bottoming out, and Hanzo snaps back to the present, the growl that bubbles in his throat weakening into a whimper. He cannot move, he cannot even beg, bound by soft cord that forces his arms behind his back and makes his chest arch obscenely.

“Come back to me, love.” McCree murmurs, smiling down at Hanzo over the swell of his hairy pecs.

McCree’s soft middle gently nudges his cage when he begins to thrust in earnest, the warm, constant press shivering up his spine, Hanzo feeling every centimeter of metal, unyielding and sensitive. His cock leaks, has been beading ever since McCree undressed and bound him, testing the ropes, dragging the cord along his nipples, securing it even behind the cage itself: nowhere is Hanzo his own. It is terrifying. Intoxicating. 

“Yeah, I’ll give you what you need.” McCree brings hims back, always does.

Early on, Hanzo could barely think about the cage without flushing. It had taken him so long to get used to being handled, to not touch his own cock, to let McCree tease and lick his hole open, to fuck him, rocking his hips and fill him as slowly as a dream.

Now he fucks Hanzo hard, and Hanzo craves it, groans around his gag, drool sliding over his lips and chin, dampening his beard. His eyes roll back into his head, toes curling, fighting the sensation for as long as he can, nearly afraid of it; its intensity would shatter his mind, steal every ounce of sanity.

“That’s it, darlin’. Let it out. I’ll give ya this one, since you waited so good.”

McCree locks his hands around Hanzo’s hips, pulling Hanzo onto his cock as he snaps his hips forward, eyes blackened and crazed like he’s rarely seen him, the bed rattling with the force of it. He would bruise. He would ache.

Now, Hanzo screams, cum pulsing around the steel inside him, splattering then drooling over his own cock, coating the bars of his cage, the metal gleaming as McCree fucks him through it, never slowing, Hanzo sobbing and straining, needing it more than he could ever say. He has no voice, no power. Only a toy for his master’s use.

He finally returns to himself, McCree’s thrusts slow and even again. Blearily Hanzo realizes the cowboy hadn’t come, not yet, still pistoning his fat cock into him with only sweat beading along his body and a fluttering chest to show for it.

“If you can make me come before you shoot again, I’ll unlock you.” McCree murmurs smugly. “Suck yer cute little cock. Would you like that? Getting to cum in my mouth?”

Hanzo moans, hoarse even behind the gag. He knows he will not be able to win, not when he was trained so thoroughly to take cock, but the chance that McCree would choke and hum around his cock entices him to no end.

McCree withdraws, flips Hanzo on top of him, lining up his cock and sheathing himself completely. Hanzo has to squeeze his core to even stay upright, his legs quaking to keep him stable, barely able to lift himself an inch before plunging back down.

McCree isn’t even looking at his face, only at his cock, soft and pink within its cage, leaking onto McCree’s stomach as Hanzo begins rocking down onto him, orgasm already thrumming through his guts, threatening to overtake him.

He would not win, but Hanzo has always liked a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a sequel found in my [Kinktober 2018 collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202507/chapters/37867682)!


	13. Human!Zenyatta/Reaper, oviposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Human!Zenyatta/Reaper (implied poly, implied Reapfist)  
> Warnings: oviposition, trans Reaper, male terms used for Reaper’s genitals, blowjob, cock cage (for Zenyatta)

****Zenyatta has attended many of his master’s husbands, but this is the first time he’s been so attached to one. The man grinds his teeth, swearing and quaking; sweat beads along his brow and down his high, scarred cheekbones. This husband, Gabriel, flushed and swelled hours ago, when the eggs began to settle low in his abdomen, a hard packed bulge that appears perfect and round. Only when Zenyatta presses can he feel the individual shells, hot and trembling with life.

Zenyatta is not supposed to speak, but he has always been one to skirt etiquette when suitable, and Gabriel enjoyed the conversation, lonelier than most when the master’s business called him away. The master is an important man, handsome, cunning, ruthless in his pursuits. His time is precious, even as his favorite labors, though he is not cruel. He would return as soon as he is able; Zenyatta is sure of it.

“You are doing well for your first time, Gabriel. Master Akande will be so very pleased.” Zenyatta sighs, content, testing the cushions within the restraints, making sure that Gabriel could not hurt himself. The master wanted his husbands as comfortable as possible.

When the accommodations prove satisfactory, Zenyatta turns his sights between his charge’s muscled thighs, trembling from the strain, dark and huge.

“You are the most beautiful of them, you know. The others envy you for it.” Zenyatta murmurs, tongue swelling at the sight of Gabriel’s cock, engorged and needy, begging to be touched. The laying process caused it sometimes, and Zenyatta coos, skirting his thumb around its swollen edge. Gabriel howls behind his teeth, his swears petering into whimpers as he shifts into the touch.

“Ah, do not fear. It will all be over soon. Look,” Zenyatta brings his other hand to his opening, tracing its edges and then the perfect curve of an egg straining to escape. “The first is coming. Gold and amber. It is gorgeous.”

Zenyatta gently teases his cock in tiny, barely-there presses, fearing that direct contact may overwhelm Gabriel who fights the tears shining in each heavily-lashed eye. Zenyatta watches with a heady, soft pleasure of his own, drinking in Gabriel’s body, hard and hairy, scarred and wondrous to behold. The others were so perfect, supple and unaware of the outside world: polished, soft-spoken dolls that sighed so prettily when the master mounted them.

Gabriel is nothing like the others; it is why the master favors him. Zenyatta too, even trained to be mounted, feels the dregs of ancient want stir within him. His cock lays soft within its cage, useless, yes, but the rest of him is a finely-honed tool.

Zenyatta shuffles back on the bed and leans forward, eyes fluttering at the smell of his Gabriel’s opening, warm and sweet. It is a faux pas to taste, but Zenyatta will take his punishment later. Anything to ease Gabriel’s distress. Zenyatta drags his tongue over his cock, and Gabriel nearly screams, the sound bitten off and razed when his opening shudders, the molten egg sliding into the carefully cupped hand beneath it.

“Wonderful.” Zenyatta says into his sweat-slick thigh, placing the egg carefully into an incubation array before returning to his secondary, but more titillating duty: lapping careful circles around his charge’s engorged cock.

Gabriel’s eyes are blown black and mindless when Zenyatta glances skyward, and he smiles, savoring the gentle sweet-tang of Gabriel’s cock, the flavor bursting over his tongue. The hand resting at his opening is soaked in slick, and Zenyatta smiles as another egg slips into place.

“A sweet release for every egg...the master may scold me, but it is a chance I will gladly take.”

Gabriel looks as if he will say something, worried even for someone as lowly as Zenyatta. It is the reason he adores him so and feels no qualms about sealing his lips around Gabriel’s cock and suckling while Gabriel tightens and twists, trapped in another wave of delirious tremors as the second, perfect, dripping egg slips into Zenyatta’s waiting hand.


End file.
